While I Breathe
by Bob J Montonelli
Summary: All Danny wants to do is sleep; and breathe; and forget. Missing scene to "Dove Commission".


Title: "While I Breathe"

Author: Bob J Montonelli aka MentalHygiene

Rating: PG-13 (FRT)

Pairing: None

Status: Complete

Summary: Missing scene; All Danny wants to do is sleep

Spoilers: "The Dove Commission"

>>

He wants to sleep.

His breath steadying off and his heart slowing from its mad canter. His throat was raw and he could still feel the twist of a snarl on his face. Aiden's handson his arm, across his shoulder. _okay, okay, it's okay..._

Futile to tell himself, after the fact.

He tries to make a joke of it; "For the record? That was harsh."

Aiden's not stupid and she does not, for one second, believe him. But doesn't say anything. He knows fear; he's good friends with _fear_, with terror that sends cat-claw words raking up your throat even if you don't mean them. Just speak. Keep talking, keep filling your head and tongue with words so nothing else gets in there.

Tilting vertigo, empty ache. He feels sick and unreal and _vulnerable_.

Her voicedistant, but her hands draw it closer, real, dragging him bodily back to earth, because she's stubborn like that, because she's more like a brother than any blood he's ever known. Her voice is tinged, scorched at the edge with that fear. Afraid of him. But all the words tangle and hold, a straining net, against remembering. He can't, won't, (wants to), tell her.

A half-dark hallway, flourescents flickering, covers speckled with dead insects. A coke machine crouches dimly against the wall, humming away, forgotten sentinel. Sweat trickles, sharp and cold, down his ribs, his chest.

"Don't tell Mac," he tells her, looking at his shoes, at the worn tile floor. Dust. He pleads too much, he thinks. But the will to fight has vanished into the rain outside, and he doesn't bother to paint his words with bravado. He isn't brave. He never was.

(ten years old)

(never was)

Beside him, she touches his arm, deliberate and solid. "I won't."

He leans against the coke machine. The metal thrums against his cheek, warm. Shuts his eyes, flutters them back open. Won't think. Not brave. Don't tell Mac. Don't tell him I went off like that. Don't say (he'll think) I'm crazy. I'm not crazy.

(not crazy, not crazy)

"Paperwork," she says, and he jerks. "That's all. If you wanna...well, you could leave, if you want, I can cover."

"N-no." He swallows. Numb. Veering too close to the thick, wet-dog stench of rain-soaked upholstery. Cigarette smoke and beer and fuck knows what else.

(blood)

(your fault, coward)

(your _fault_)

"You okay?"

Without meaning to, he shakes his head dumbly. No. Not okay. But he can't say why. He had, once. Officers moving around them. Around him. His father gone. Somewhere. And they won't tell.

(eye for an eye. don't tell.)

"Danny?"

A distant, serrated surge that cuts him bone-raw; he wishes, so badly, that she is his sister. Brother. Whatever she is. She keeps talking about her brothers, the brothers she loved, battling the rats, scaring teachers. _where were you?_

One wrong choice. His life is a series of them. The tattoo (itching on his shoulder, always, perched like a crow waiting for carrion) the most obvious. One wrong choice. It's raining, get in. Where to. Go home. Home.

He knows (glistening like corpse-eyes in his flashlight, this memory) it's his fault. Hunger and sickness, twisting. Ten years old. It's a long, long time ago. _leave me alone._

He takes a deep, aching breath. "Something bad happened," he says. "Thought maybe I forgot about it. But I didn't."

Her arm across his shoulders, and he knows from experience she's a solid hand in a fight. Got his back, always. He trusts her so much and never even shows it. _what kind of brother am I?_

He told the police (the years dim the edges, but their badges still glitter, and he's ten, and looking down at his sneakers and the dusty tile floor) he got beat up. His dad got beat up. Didn't say why. Robbery? Sure, fine. Robbery.

_my fault my fault my fault_

"It's okay, Danny." The words falling against the thick walls like children's helpless fists.

And her arm, on his back, grounding him. Drawing him near.

_don't leave me here_

_alone_

end


End file.
